Sequel to:
With a deeply satisfied grunt, Dick Grayson unloaded inside the doll, filling, ass of pink rubbery latex spilling over with his seed. He’d exerted all his great strength in fucking the dollified Batman who gurgled and moaned unintelligibly, squirming herself around his shaft, desperate for more.
“You’re insatiable,” Robin panted, his physique glistening with sweat as he lay heavily atop her, still impaled within her.
The bookcase entrance to the batcave swung open, a silver haired man stepping within carrying a silver tray. “Would the masters care for afternoon tea? I thought- oh…” Alfred the butler faltered at the sight. “... I see the masters are otherwise engaged,” he noted primly. “I’ll come back later.”
“No, stay, Alfred,” Robin commanded. Taking the chin of the sex doll (he was grateful Bruce had shaved), he twisted its head around, kissing it deeply. Even after hours of fucking, he noticed Bruce’s eyes widen at the intimate meeting of their tongues.
With the parting of their lips, Robin unsheathed himself from inside her, splattering her glossy pink skin. “This doll needs cleaning. Cindy is going to be staying with us a little longer, and I’ll be using her again in the morning.”
Alfred grimaced, drawing a handkerchief from his pocket with a weary sigh. “Oh, right you are, sir.”
The doll wouldn’t stop wriggling as Alfred wiped down her latex skin and polished her until he could see his own reflection in her breasts. He rinsed out her well-used holes with water. Dick had certainly been having a lot of fun with her.
“Honestly, Master Bruce, between this and crime fighting, I wish you’d develop some healthier hobbies. This is hardly a normal outlet, is it?” Alfred grumbled.
“Hi, I’m Cindy!” she sang sweetly to him, her voice as vacuous as the pull string on a barbie doll.
“If you say so… Although you’ll forgive me if I don’t refer to a doll as Master Cindy,” he said dryly.
“Hi, I’m Cindy! I want to play!”
She wiggled her soft body against his. He recoiled, though only briefly. "Play?" he mused. After all, who was he to deny a request from the master? “Are you absolutely sure about that, Master Wayne?”
“Hi, I’m Cindy. Play with me!” the doll said insistently.
“I’m afraid I’m a little too old for that sort of thing. Unless…”
In the rogue’s gallery of the batcave, within a tightly sealed glass case, was a vial of Poison Ivy’s pheromone perfume. Alfred unstoppered it, dabbed a drop onto his cleaning rag, and smeared it across the surface of Batman’s supple breasts.
A waft of intoxicating aroma met the old man’s nose, and the effects were immediate. It had been decades since he’d last looked at a woman in that way, yet now his lusts surged like those of a young man. He tore off the butler uniform, his silver-haired cock springing free, throbbing and pulsating as it reared awakening. His breathing was ragged, panting, as he stared down at the female, fuckable form beneath him, all memory of Bruce Wayne banished by the burning, desperate need to fuck something, anything.
A few drops of pheromone was all it took to turn his employer into a toy to be used.
“Hi, I’m Cindy! I want to- MMPPGHH!”
The thick cock thrusting between its lips muted the doll, slamming violently against the back of its throat, as the once prim, aged Englishman fucked it with an animalistic fury. Gnarled, arthritic fingers seized its head, slamming its drooling mouth back down over the shaft again and again, as Alfred claimed his toy. The slap-slap of his wrinkled balls slapping against the doll's chin echoed throughout the batcave.
In his frenzy, he didn’t notice the vial dropping from his hand, thick globules of its perfume splattering across Cindy’s tits as it fell.